


The Monster

by Statementends (Blueberryshortcake)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Home Invasion, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryshortcake/pseuds/Statementends
Summary: Tim is expecting it. Expecting a monster to find its way into his flat.





	The Monster

He had been dreaming of the worms again. 

How many times had he had that dream now? How many times awakened had he felt his flesh crawl sure that something was burrowing in him?

He tried to lose himself in romantic nights out, but even he wasn’t charming enough to find another bed seven days a week, especially now. It was hard to force a smile when everything had gone so wrong. 

Inevitably he had to go back to his flat. Alone. 

And he would think about how it wasn’t safe anymore, how it was never safe. How many statements had taken place in someone’s home, in someone’s room? Martin had been trapped a week living off tinned peaches. 

And Martin still didn’t get it. Still didn’t seem to understand any of it. 

It makes you jumpy, expecting something to go bump in the night. Waiting for the thing to come and get you. The  _ thing _ that took your brother. The  _ thing _ that raided your workplace. The  _ thing  _ you haven’t met yet. 

So Tim was ready. He was ready for the knocks and bumps. The creak of the floorboard. The certainty that it wasn’t the upstairs neighbours or the house settling, or a car outside, or some rowdy kids a street down. No. Heart stopping certainty that this was it. That there was a  _ monster _ in his flat. 

His skin itched and fear burned in his chest, hot and angry fear. He quietly rolled out of bed and grabbed the cricket bat knowing it would be useless. That there was nothing that could stop the monster that had decided he was its next victim.

He would make it  _ hurt _ though. He would make it hurt. 

He went to the door of his bedroom and held the knob. He slowed his breathing and listened. More creaks and bumps. Something was out there.

There was a monster in his flat. 

He wrenched open the door and ran winding up the bat. He couldn’t stop. If he stopped he would feel the worms, and see the awful puppet, and the smug look on Elias’ face.

The bat struck true. The  _ thing _ cried out in pain. Tim was yelling too. Yelling nonsense.

The Monster was on the floor and he hit it hard in the gut. It gasped, he had knocked the wind out of it. 

“T--”

Again with the bat. He aimed at the head, but it rolled to one side and he struck its shoulder instead. 

“TIM!” It cried out. 

He felt its eyes on him. Itchy caterpillar legs on his body. Surrounding him. Staring at him. Knowing him. 

A monster was in his flat. A  _ monster _ . A Monster!

He grunted with one more swing to the ribs before he threw the bat to one side, and stood over it. 

“Ti-Tim,” It gasped. Damn him. 

Tim breathed heavily. He didn’t move from his position stooped over the monster. 

“Why the hell are you in my flat, Jon?” He asked, voice low. 

“Did you know it was--”

“Not at first.” Tim replied evenly. He couldn’t see Jon’s face in the dark, but there was dim light reflected off his eyes. Like some night stalking creature. 

He wondered if Jon could see his face then. If he could see his tears. 

“I--” Jon was trying to form something to say. 

“Why’re you here Jon? Why the hell are you here?” He demanded not in the mood for dithering. 

“S-sorry--I…” Jon was gasping for breath. His shadowed figure was curled into a ball, as if expecting more blows. 

“Get out.” Tim said. He didn’t care. He didn’t care why the hell his boss--his nightmare-- had broken in. He wanted him gone. He wanted all this to not be real. He hated this. He hated the anger and fear and himself for not being able to be normal anymore. Not even be able to pretend at being Tim Stoker.

Either he would be like Jonathan Sims one day: a monster in someone else’s flat, or he was going to be dead because of him. 

So he didn’t feel guilty for any bruised or cracked bones he may have caused. He didn’t feel guilty for the soft whimper as Jon pushed himself up off the floor.

He _ didn’t.  _

“I knocked.”

That was true.

“I was… I thought… I was worr--”

“Shut up.” 

That was probably true too, because Jon couldn’t just be a normal monster, could he? He had to keep acting like a human. Scared, and awkward, and guilty and it made Tim sick hearing the same sort of fears in Jon’s voice, no longer deep and aloof. No longer the untouchable head archivist of the Magnus Institute. 

Jon stumbled away painfully. His form was silhouetted in the doorway. 

“Why didn’t you turn on the light?” Tim asked. He briefly wondered to himself if that would have made a difference. If he would have still attacked. He wasn’t sure. He hated that he wasn’t sure. 

Jon startled and turned, maybe to look at him. Tim couldn’t see his expression.

“I... I didn’t…?” Jon sounded surprised. Surprised and terrified. 

“Get out.” Tim said. Question answered. 


End file.
